ll--"

"You're a thousand times better. And so everybody's going, on Miss
Schley's first night? I only wish we could, but we can't. Let's put up
with number two. We're free on the second."

Lord Holme did not look at all appeased.

"That's not the same thing," he said.

"What's the difference? She doesn't change the play, I suppose?"

"No. But naturally on the first night she wants all her friends to come
up to the scratch, muster round--don't you know?--and give her a hand."

"And she thinks your hand, being enormous, would be valuable? But we
can't throw over Brayley House."

Lord Holme's square jaw began to work, a sure sign of acute irritation.

"If there's a dull, dreary house in London, it's Brayley House," he
grumbled. "The cookin's awful--poison--and the wine's worse. Why, last
time Laycock was there they actually gave him--"

"Poor dear Mr. Laycock! Did they really? But what can we do? I'm sure I
don't want to be poisoned either. I love life."

She was looking brilliant. Lord Holme began to straddle his legs.

"And there's the box!" he said. "A box next the stage that holds six in
a row can't stand empty on a first night, eh? It'd throw a damper on the
whole house."

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand. What box?"

"Hang it all!--ours."

"I didn't know we had a box for this important social function."

Lady Holme really made a great effort to keep the ice out of her voice,
but one or two fragments floated in nevertheless.

"Well, I tell you I've taken a box and asked Laycock--"

The reiterated mention of this hallowed name was a little too much for
Lady Holme's equanimity.

"If Mr. Laycock's going the box won't be empty. So that's all right,"
she rejoined. "Mr. Laycock will make enough noise to give the critics a
lead. And I suppose that's all Miss Schley wants."

"But it isn't!" said Lord Holme, violently letting himself down at the
knees and shooting himself up again.

"What does she want?"

"She wants you to be there."

"Me! Why?"

"Because she's taken a deuce of a fancy to you."

"Really!"

An iceberg had entered the voice now.

"Yes, thinks you the smartest woman in London, and all that. So you
are."

"I'm very sorry, but even the smartest woman in London can't throw over
the Brayley's. Take another box for the second."

Lord Holme looked fearfully sulky and lounged out of the room.

On the following morning he strode into Lady Holme's boudoir about
twelve with a radi